


No Shortcut Through The Trees

by gingertintedglasses



Series: Running Up That Hill [8]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, PTSD, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-21
Updated: 2017-11-21
Packaged: 2019-02-05 00:06:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12782583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gingertintedglasses/pseuds/gingertintedglasses
Summary: Prompt: War Vet Steve and Cillvian Bucky Prompt: Steve forgets he’s home, suddenly the too warm apartment is Baghdad. Bucky is unsure how to help Steve during the episode.





	No Shortcut Through The Trees

The air conditioning wasn’t working.  Bucky hadn’t been able to sort it out but the unit was nearly brand new, so someone from Sears was coming by the next day to sort out the problem or replace the unit.   

It’d be ok.  It was warm, but they had fans.  They’d make it through one day of the heat wave without a/c.  

Bucky was getting a fan set up in their bedroom when he heard it. (He didn’t have a word for what _it_ sounded like, simply that whatever noise had caught his attention had him heading for the stairs.)

“Steve?”

Steve was standing with a white-knuckle grip on the hall closet door, staring straight ahead with pure terror written across his features.  He hadn’t heard Bucky.  From how fast Steve’s chest was rising and falling, Bucky was sure the sound he’d heard was a gasp.

***

 _He wasn’t sure what was real anymore.  Bucky had felt real.  The hospital and the doctors and Bucky and the therapy and sleeping in his own bed and Bucky.  Bucky had felt real but it couldn’t be.  The air was never so stifling at home, never sat so heavy in his lungs.  It was a set up.  It wasn’t real.  They were trying to get in his head and it was working_ it was working _he had to get out, had to get back home.  Had to—_

“Steve?”  

_They found someone who sounded like Bucky.  Or he’d been there long enough that he’d lost his mind.  He wasn’t sure which was worse.  He wanted to be home.  He wanted it to be Bucky.  He couldn’t allow himself to be tricked.  He had to think._

***

Steve wasn’t responding to him, but he was muttering on his exhales. He didn’t think he was home.  He didn’t think any of this was real.   _Why_ Bucky didn’t know.  Different things would send Steve back there, would bring up one of his not-quite-memory memories.   

What it was this time, Bucky didn’t know.  (Bucky didn’t _know_ and so he couldn’t help Steve and he needed to help Steve.  Had to bring him back and dedicate the rest of their afternoon to Steve’s self-care and comfort level.  But first he had to figure out what had taken Steve away in that moment.)

There were moments that felt as though they hadn’t made all that much progress, and Bucky could only imagine what it felt like for Steve. Moments like this, when he felt helpless, felt like all he could do was watch while Steve _hurt_ , made him feel like he was still waiting for Steve to wake up in the hospital.

***

_Too hot too hot good god. The air felt like a pillow held over his face.  His hands were clumsy and heavy against his skin.  No holes to tear in thin air for better breathing.  His hand came away slick with sweat and fell like dead weight to his side._

***

Steve raised shaky, slow fingers and pawed at his own face, and gasped.

He couldn’t breathe.  He couldn’t breathe and – and he was sweating bullets.  

 _Hot.  He’s hot_! Bucky’s brain screamed at him. _You idiot.  It’s too hot. Fan. Get the fan getthefangetthefan_.

Bucky’s legs almost went out from under him twice in his scramble up the stairs.  How could he not have seen?  How many minutes did he waste staring when he could have been useful?

He set the fan up several feet away and turned it onto its lowest setting.  He didn’t want to shock Steve out of the moment and hurt him.  Bucky reached for an abandoned water bottle on the coffee table, and waited.   

***

There was a breeze, which seemed improbable, but there it was.  And something on that breeze, too.  Something familiar and-

“Buck.”  His voice came out harsher than he’d meant.  

“Steve.  Hey. You’re home.  You’re safe. –I’m sorry.  The air conditioning’s broken, I didn’t think –I.”  Bucky stopped himself.  “You’re home.  It’s me. It’s Bucky.”

It took Steve several minutes (moments? Minutes? Time seemed thick and murky) to release the door and turn towards Bucky.  

“I thought I was still there.” He choked out.  

“I’m sorry.”   

Steve shook his head, and leaned towards Bucky, face crumpling.  “I’m home.”

Bucky held him fast, and stroked his hair carefully.  “Yeah, sweetheart.  We’re home.”


End file.
